The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Thirty-nine Sounds Tarnished Blue

What to do next? I was restless. Impatient. Iron filings waiting for the magnet to pass by. A totally alien sensation. Every once in awhile I'd take out the Tarot deck and key and turn them over in my hands a few times but they were mute. Even worked up the courage to pull on a hoodie and sneak down to the darkened psychic shop late one quiet, moonless night. Tried the lock on the door. Click, click. Nice smooth action. As advertised. But I didn't go in. I couldn't go in. I feared the interior. Like I used to fear the basement as a kid.

One day I grew weary of all the waiting around so, instead of just ordering groceries online, I decided to go in person. To Walmart. On a weekend. Thought it best to pop in the plugs to guarantee myself a measure of silent movie shopping. When I got there I nodded a perfunctory acknowledgement to the little blue and brown greeter with the sallow teeth and made a beeline for the veggie section. Had Moussaka on my mind. Stopped in front of the egg plants where a particularly fat, deep purple specimen caught my eye. Reached out for it but found my hand coming to rest on top of someone else's. A woman's. A left. No ring. Couple of liver spots. I was pretty sure what I'd see when I looked up. Certainly not someone I'd want to pick a fight with over an eggplant. Turns out I was wrong. Very wrong. She was roughly my age, I guessed, and not beautiful but pleasant. Extremely pleasant. Even more pleasant when she smiled apologetically. She still had great teeth. I stammered something about being sorry. Entirely my fault. Please go ahead. It's all yours. Oddly, she wasn't looking at my eyes while I spoke. No, she looked - stared - at my lips. Then she gestured towards her own lips, to her ears, then shrugged sweetly. It took Quick Draw an eternity to figure it out. Oh, shit, right, she's deaf. Then, for some reason, nervous impulse probably, I decided to nod reassuringly and gesture towards my own ears. Initial confusion was followed by an unmistakable look of skepticism and incipient anger. Is this guy making fun of me? You could just see it. Without thinking, I hurriedly pulled out one of the plugs and showed it to her. Sheer stupidity this time. And the second I did it I regretted it. Maybe she'd think it was some kind of hearing aid. That I was trying to show her we were kindred spirits or something. At least she didn't see the discrete lump of ear wax hanging on underneath. But I did. It was ugly as a wart so I hastily stuck it in my pocket. But now the bizarre aural imbalance was becoming distracting. Store noise rushing in one unplugged ear and crashing up against the plug in the other. Then someone's child ripped off a jagged silver lightning bolt of screech right behind me. Almost severed my corpus callosum and made me gasp out loud. Panicked, pulled the plug out and stuffed it back into place. The whole thing lasted maybe a few seconds but she was staring right at me the whole time. And I mean staring. Can't imagine what my expression must have been. Certainly wasn't a selfie moment. So much for good first impressions. But to my amazement she just smiled like she'd really enjoyed the whole performance. Turns out the woman had a terrific, if somewhat bizarre, sense of humor. Just my kind of girl.

That's how I met Alice, a comic vegetable counter cliché straight out of a Hugh Grant movie. As it turns out, we were peculiarly perfect for each other. I valued silence. She lived in it. And - bonus - she was an actuary. Never met an actuary before. Didn't even know anyone who'd managed so much as a distant sighting of one. They're as remote and mysterious as Yeti. In her case, she inhabited a cloud shrouded thirty-fifth floor branch plant office of the federal government whence came recondite revenue predictions of future natural resource extraction and projections on taxable earnings. Or something like that. Important thing was, she may have been a professional but she wasn't a friggin' lawyer.

Because she could lip read we tried that when we first went out for coffee. I flattered myself that I'd become reasonably good at it. Disabuse was swift. Turns out navigating life's diurnal duties with stopped ears is nothing remotely like carrying on even the most casual conversation. She could sign but for me that would be a long term project. Like, years of ASL. She had learned to speak but after some incidents of ridicule she chose to quit completely. Later, when she eventually described some of those incidents for me, I felt rage - I wanted to find those assholes wherever they were and beat them to a pulp - and protectiveness - just wanted to hold her, shield her from the nasty world. Not that she needed it. She could be tough as a nut. No, wait, that's unfair. And unflattering. Resolute is more precise. As she said, I'll communicate with the world on my own terms. I'm deaf. That's who I am. I won't be anyone else.

Which was interesting because after the embarrassing, if ultimately fortuitous episode with the plugs, I was pretty much forced to explain about my synaesthesia right away. I stuck to the official version, carefully avoiding the baroque embroidery. Didn't want to scare off another one. And her reaction was pretty good. Mostly treated it as a curiosity and appreciated that it was actually a strength of our relationship. But she also referred to it at the time as 'my condition.' We never really got into it again because it never intruded into our lives. Which was, of course, the whole point. But I knew that in some way it would probably always be 'my condition.' I still have it on my cell. No big deal. I completely understand. But still, interesting.